"Once pupils have mastered the skill, it is time to provide for practice, so that the learning is not forgotten".
-Madeline Hunter
La Paz’s “El Alto” airport is one of the highest airports in the world and one of the most challenging for pilots to land. Situated even higher than the Bolivian capital city of La Paz, the challenge at El Alto is the altitude (13,325 feet)and the terrain.
The Andes mountains suddenly break away to a high bowl-like valley which contains the city of La Paz. From the plane one can see the entire city in one magnificent vista, framed by snow capped Andean peaks all around.
I have been told that flying into La Paz is one of the most thrilling aviation experiences ever. There are only two runways, each surrounded by city and by steep cliffs of the Andes mountains. One slip and its Adios amigos.
We are in an antique 727 that most other airlines would have deemed unfit for service years ago. I ask for exit row and get one of the last rows on the plane--row 29 next to the galley. But the bonus is I get to board from the back of the plane like in the old days. Out on the runway, grinning soldiers in olive uniforms with AK-47s happily wave me onboard. Security has a different meaning here.
I strap myself in and watch the human parade before me. The overhead bins above us are duct taped shut. Someone has written “Out of Order” in black magic marker in Spanish on the shiny gray tape. I notice the frayed green and purple upholstery on the seats, most of which do not have armrests. Someone has stuck gum between the pages of my in-flight magazine. I try to recline a little. My seat does not recline. Why am I surprised?
A dark man with black greasy brylcreem hair in a worn brown tweed business suit takes the seat ahead of me and promptly reclines his seat so his slimy head is just inches from my lap. He pulls out a cell phone and commences a very loud and apparently very important conversation in rapid fire Spanish.
Time for takeoff. The flight attendants do not bother with the usual safety speech nor cross check. Instead, they are in the back of the plane with me, noshing on the peanuts and cookies. One of them arms my exit door as an afterthought as we take off. We rumble down the tarmac as cell phone guy continues shouting into his phone.
Bang! The plane goes silent. Heads turn in my direction. To my left, in the galley, coffee pots, cups and packets tumble from cabinets above- flung open from takeoff- onto the worn purple carpet. An empty coffee pot rolls under my feet. Packets of sugar rain down into the galley like white butterflies alighting in the rainforest. The flight attendants are unaffected. Nobody says a word. Cell phone guy resumes his important conversation. Life goes on.
The rest of the flight seems uneventful. The flight crew is more interested in chatting with me than working. They invite me to their domain in the back of the plane. Someone gets out a deck of cards. We play “21” until we get bored.
Time to land. Annoyed, the crew makes a perfunctory dash through the aisles. The cards are put away. I return to my seat. Cell phone guy, grease from his black hair staining the purple seatback, is fully reclined and asleep. I skinny into my spot and watch expectantly out my exit door window. La Paz appears, a bowl of twinkling yellow Christmas lights below, myriad glitters interrupting the darkness of the Andes.
Landing is quick and sharp. We hit the runway and bounce. Hard. The aging plane rumbles, shudders and shimmies. Then more roaring and squealing and screeching. We are thrown forward, then backward then from side to side. I think we blew a tire.
Then I smelled it. Cell phone guy has s**t his pants. There can be no other explanation. It lingers in the stale close airplane air. Strapped and trapped into my exit row, I have no escape. I reach into my pocket and retrieve a worn tissue to cover my nose. We rumble into the gate.
Gagging, I escape from my prison to my flight attendant friends as everyone jumps up to retrieve their bags. I tell them about cell phone guy.
“Happens all the time on this landing.” they say.
